


Perfect Reflections

by Allekha



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mirror Sex, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 04:50:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14762915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allekha/pseuds/Allekha
Summary: A younger Victor has some fun with Chris in Lilia's dance studio.





	Perfect Reflections

Lilia would kill them if she knew what Victor and Chris were doing in the studio. But it's late, and Lilia isn't here, and they are alone except for each other and their reflections.

They had put up a pretense of practicing, for a while, but it wasn't long before Chris got a look on his face and asked Victor about his flexibility. And Victor loves showing off, so he did: one hand on the barre for balance, the other pulling his foot above his head, automatically checking his posture in the mirrors. Chris had run his hand along Victor's leg, up his hip, up to his waist, and then Victor had let his foot down so Chris could crowd in behind him and shove him against the barre.

Now Chris is brushing his hair from the back of his neck and kissing it, and between that and the arm around his waist, Victor can't quite seem to catch his breath. "I want to see you," he whines.

Chris complies, raises himself up until he can just put his chin on Victor's head and they can look at each other in the mirror. For a moment, he looks serious, but then he smiles. Victor smiles back automatically. He likes looking at this new Chris. He's growing up, growing into his face, growing from the cute boy Victor would happily cuddle like Makkachin into a lovely, handsome one with far more interesting programs. He's gotten taller, too, which makes it easier for him to lean over Victor like this; he thinks Chris might have a centimeter or two on him, now.

Victor hasn't had his fill of looking yet when Chris settles back down on his heels. He kisses Victor's cheek and says, "Watch." He goes back to pressing kisses to Victor's neck and sending shivers down his spine, and Victor watches.

Chris's weight leans him forward, and his touches are so distracting that soon all Victor can focus on in the mirror are his own eyes. His pretty blue eyes, which he likes to stare at sometimes. His pretty blue eyes, getting swallowed up by the black of his pupils as Chris murmurs in his ear and the hand on his stomach drifts down.

Victor isn't sure what makes him shiver more: the way that Chris's fingers brush against his chest, light and teasing, as he draws Victor's shirt up from behind him, or the way that it looks in the dance studio's mirror, skin being revealed slowly, the curl of Chris's hand into the fabric. The shirt doesn't stay where Chris lets go of it – stupid gravity – but Victor doesn't mind too much, because Chris slips his hand under it, and oh. Yes. He leans forward into the touch, hands gripping the barre tighter.

Chris has to let go of him with his other hand to brush Victor's hair aside, again, so he can kiss his neck. If they'd really been practicing, he would have put it up. It's pretty but it gets in the way so much; maybe he should cut it like Chris cut his hair last month, and then Chris could kiss his neck all he wanted, suck bruises into it that would show in the mirror.

"You can give me hickeys if you want," he says, and that makes Chris bring his head up to blink at Victor's gaze in the mirror. "I don't care." He doesn't. He can cover them up if they're bad enough that Yakov or Lilia might scold him.

Really, Chris can probably do whatever else he wants, too. Victor didn't realize he had such nice ideas for too long. Too caught up in the image of Heidi from the packaging of his old coach, too used to thinking of Chris as young and little, when he's not, anymore. It's a good thing Chris came to visit, that they've had plenty of time together to correct Victor's old assumptions.

Chris takes the invitation; he turns his head and digs his teeth into the skin right above Victor's collar. It tears a little noise from his throat, makes him close his eyes until Chris lets go to whisper in his ear. "Keep your eyes open, Victor."

He forces them open. Makes himself watch as Chris starts to suck on the base of his neck, as his hand starts to move back down, golden tan against Victor's pale stomach. It drifts for too long above his waistband, teasing. He wants Chris to touch him – he's sure Chris wants to touch him, too, with the way he keeps grinding against him from behind.

"Come on," he says. He has half a mind to pull Chris's hand down himself, if he can convince his own to unwrap from the barre. He can barely feel his fingers now.

Chris shoves his hand down Victor's pants. Victor lets out a cry, too loud in the empty room, and very nearly cracks his head against the mirror.

"God," says Chris, "look at you," and it's so difficult but Victor does, keeps looking at the mirror. Looking at the way his cheeks are flushed, his hair falling forward, his entire body arcing into Chris's touch. Looking at the way Chris is looking, too, just as flushed, that _expression_ on his face – Victor loves that expression so much, what it means and how it looks on him.

Then Chris gets a better grip on him, and Victor can't look any more. He leans his head into the glass and lets his eyes slip closed. Chris is so hot every place he's touching him, the arm around him and the hand on his cock and the breath on his cheek. It's driving thought from his head until there's just his touch, everywhere, so good.

"Victor," Chris says. "I told you to watch. Victor," he says, scolding, but Victor can't. He tries, but he's too overwhelmed by all the heat. Chris huffs, then says, "You can't come unless you do."

Victor curses at him. Russian, but Chris knows what he's saying, and it only makes him laugh. Somehow Victor manages; he leans back into Chris and makes his eyes open. He even gets a hand off the barre to grip the arm on his waist. Chris rewards him by tightening his arm and moving his hand faster. It feels amazing.

He doesn't get to watch this a lot – so far it's been dark bedrooms, sometimes sheets in the way, bodies folded together too much to see, or Victor's head pushed into Chris's shoulder as he asks for more, more, more, and Chris gives it to him. He's good like that. It doesn't seem like it should be that fascinating to see, but it is, a hand that isn't his own touching him, fingers that are thicker than his own doing what they want to him. Not to mention Chris looking down over his shoulder, like he's never seen anything that looks so good – maybe he hasn't. Victor knows what his appearance does to people. What it does to Chris, specifically, the way it makes him press harder into Victor's back.

He can tell when Chris is close by the way he buries his face against his hair and stops talking, even to whisper Victor's name. (Which is too bad, because he likes the way that Chris says his name when they do this; it might be the best way anyone says his name.) Victor reaches behind to pat his head, the sweaty curls now cut short, but the angle's awkward, so he drops his hand after to wrap his fingers over Chris's.

And as Chris said to, Victor watches their reflections as they both spill over, shuddering together.

**Author's Note:**

> First part of this was written quite a while ago for the prompt 'mirror'.


End file.
